Don't Forget
by sillygirl8406
Summary: Memory was the damnest thing because as his vision focused on the person in front of him he didn’t know who the man was or who “Gil” was. Later, pairings will form, just not going to tell yet.


Memory was sometimes a gift; other times…it was a curse. For him, it'd always be a curse. If the fact that his memory was exceptional, almost photographic, was a gift then he could have been able to sleep like normal people. However, when normal night shift people were sleeping, he was trying to figure out ways to wear himself down enough to where his thoughts and memories didn't keep him awake. He could remember every detail, every smell and breeze, every look on the victim or victims faces, and every move that the killer made to make that person or persons breathe their last breath.

It was an amazing thing, memory. Even though it was sometimes a curse, life wouldn't be worth living if humans didn't remember. Parents would be forgotten, loved ones, what he liked or didn't like, Christmas mornings, Thanksgiving dinners, and skipping out on church to open up a dead sequels stomach.

These were things he wanted to remember. They were happy, well, most were happy, and filled with special meanings that only he understood. They were his memories after all. If someone else looked in his family album or studied the paintings and bug collections on his walls in his home they wouldn't get it. Why would they? Those were his things and they didn't belong to other people. Other people could only speculate their meanings.

So, why were speculations the foreground of this manhunt? Why was he the prime target just because he was the only one who didn't remember anything from that crime scene. At the time he was walking through the park three blocks from his townhouse at four in the morning on his night off; it wasn't a crime scene. He enjoyed walking through that park at night or early morning. It helped him clear his head; the walking also made him tired so when he got back home he could lie down and eventually go to sleep just as the sun was coming up. That morning he was hoping his memories wouldn't bother him.

There was no reason for him to have been approached by four officers and interrogated. He showed them his ID, told them who he was, and was curious as to what crime they were accusing him of. Yes, he was walking through the park at that particular time. No, he didn't hear anything.

The stares he got in return weren't encouraging, especially when he asked the officers if he could see the body.

He was a CSI after all; analyzing dead bodies was what he did. Why did they have to look at him like that for? That was when he stepped back and tripped over the edge of the sidewalk. They, the officers, made him uncomfortable enough that he went to step back to try to maybe turn away from them long enough to figure out what to do. Next thing he knew he was being accused of trying to flee law enforcement while a serious headache coursed through his brain from where his head impacted the sidewalk.

Assholes. Lucky for him Captain Jim Brass showed up and talked his posse down from pressing charges, but that didn't stop the manhunt ordered by the Sheriff. That didn't stop the Dayshift CSI guys from searching his townhouse looking for evidence ordered by a judge that had it in for him ever since he could remember. Asshole.

When they tossed family photos at him, photos of his mother and father, of him and his father, of him and his mother, of him and his father again, it hurt. When they tried to speculate what his motive was for killing 19 year old Michael Thomas in that park at 3:45 in the morning, it hurt worse.

When they told him his memory was flawed, that he was lying, that he was going to be placed under arrest, he got mad.

His fists collided with the table as he stood. The chair he was sitting in while Vartann accused him of a murder he didn't commit tipped over and banged against the tile floor. Before he could do much else Jim was holding him from behind him with his arms wrapped around his chest. Vartann had no right or no evidence to accuse him of such a crime.

Jim pulled him back so hard and fast his feet couldn't keep up and they both tumbled into the wall with the mirror. His team was probably back there watching him lose control. He had every right to lose control. A detective with his head shoved so fucking far up his ass was accusing him of murder. "You have no evidence, Alex," he was yelling. "You can't arrest me for this. There's no proof."

Jim's grip got tighter and he was saying something in his ear. "Calm down, Gil. Just calm down."

Calm down? Vartann was minutes away from taking his career, his life away from him. How was he supposed to calm down? "You son-of-a-bitch. If you think that this will put you at the top of Conrad's Ass-kissing List well congratulations. But I'm not just going to let you do this to me. You have no right to do this!"

"Jesus Christ, Gil. Hang back, let me deal with this," Jim was still saying in his ear.

The door to the interrogation room opened and Conrad Ecklie walked in. From his tight lips and darting stare, Conrad was pissed off. Yeah, well, Conrad had to get in line because so was he. He was more pissed off because they were trying to take his life away. "I want a lawyer," he gritted out between his clenched jaw.

Vartann looked at Conrad and Conrad looked over his left shoulder at Jim and Jim's grip finally let go of his arms. He took a couple of steps forward so Jim could get away from the wall before his headache turned into a blinding pain and his legs stopped supporting his body.

Vague voices tried to break through the sharp buzzing in his ears. Faces came and went through the white cloudiness of his vision as he was being moved, touched, and…and then he couldn't feel much of anything.

There was a brief moment of darkness and no thoughts before his eyes opened and lights were shining into them.

"I think he's awake. Gil, can you hear me? Gil?"

Memory was the damnest thing because as his vision focused on the person in front of him he didn't know who the man was or who "Gil" was. Obviously, from the concern and look on the other man's face, it was supposed to be him.

TBC…


End file.
